Back Cove

It is so good to be back to my old home in Waldoboro on Back Cove. Every day has been hot I have been in the water, salt water, initially a shock to an old body but I go in slowly, lower my self down and off the granite, into the water and once completely submerged the body adjusts I float  on by back and look at everything, breath in the air, listen to the crying gulls, the wind whispering  through the oak leaves that hang out over the granite rocks, strong branches horizontal  to the trunk of the tree.  The roots on the bank are exposed  from water eroding the shore edge. The wind blows in from the south east, from the river up the cove disturbing the water surface so that there are no reflections of the trees that grow on the shore, ripples that lap against the rocks, sounds that combine with the sound of the wind moving the leaves. Other birds not seen call out and are answered from a distant place. It is timeless, as it may have been when the Indians lived here. From the water  I see sky, clouds, trees, rocks.  and islands. No cottages or homes can be seen from this place where I swim, a few docks with boats indicate humans are living back from the shore. This is my paradise, the place I love the most.

It is silent. The only sound I hear through the open window is the robin singing outside. On my back I feel cool moist air from the morning fog and breath in the smell of salt air. Rather then close the window I move to a different chair because it is wonderful to hear the robin in the quiet room. It is common here on the coast of Maine to have fog in the morning. It will burn off in a few hours and be a sunny day. Right now the visible landscape is grey and mute, and the distant trees and foliage disappear in the mist. The invisible, the silence and the song of a bird. I savor the moment.